


Helium

by SenjuMizusaya



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, BAMF Sawada Tsunayoshi, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-posted, F/F, F/M, Family, Female Sawada Tsunayoshi, Fluff, Genderswap, Humor, Language, Mild Sexual Content, No Inheritance-Ceremony Arc, Romance, despite being pretty dark, follows the anime but takes notes from the manga, handling life with humor, huuumooor, though less for the laughs than the original series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-17 05:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenjuMizusaya/pseuds/SenjuMizusaya
Summary: Tsuna was not the type to lie, least of all to herself, so it was with utmost honesty she could admit that there was no way she could've expected the unexpected. After all, how does one prepare for a life whose turns hadn't even been considered in her wildest of dreams?(Or, in which Tsuna is born a girl and the domino of events doesn't quite flip in another direction, but tremors still shake the cards.)





	1. A Demon Tutor Invades My Home

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own KHR!

.

.

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I'm going to give you some advise. 

If your mother accidentally messes up your bento and it, aesthetically speaking, doesn't look perfect anymore, you tell her; "It's okay, really! It still looks really good, and it would break anyway when I eat it." 

If you forget your homework for school, try to act natural and, depending on the teacher, either go the the sensei first thing with a convincing excuse executed with believable emotions, or you try to become invisible at your desk and hope the teacher doesn't notice that you never put anything on the growing pile of hand-in homework. Then, at lunch, you hide behind a tree and write your hand off to finish it and then casually amble past and say "oh, yeah, whoops, seems I had my homework all along." 

If somebody, let's say a leering man, tells you "come here, pretty girl", it's obvious that you should _not_ go to him. As a matter of fact, it's advisable to run. I'll admit that my tips aren't always the best, but even I know when somebody looks at your boobs instead of your face. 

Now, as you may have noticed, what I have told you is at least a _little_ agreeable. Nothing applies to me. Not a speck of it. 

First of all, mother would never mess up my bento, and if she for some mysterious reason did, she'd improvise a new pattern or face and make it unbelievably cute which meant that I'd eventually drop it into a puddle by accident when tripping on my way to school. (Obviously that single puddle would be the only one on the entire way, as if to a make a point about luck hating me.)

Secondly, the tree to make my homework behind would be occupied either by some stoned duo or a couple in the midst of their first smooch; tongues and clothed bodies pressed flush against each other and all. Never mind that this only happened when  _I_ was the one struggling to find a decently hidden spot. 

Lastly, when running away from some perv I'd end up tripping and flashing him. Or, I'd run in the wrong direction and accidentally end up in the crossfire of a yakuza feud for territory. 

Do you need more proof about me being a safety hazard, failure at school and generally clumsy person? 

When I was seven, I tripped down the stairs and accidentally broke an ancient painting, which had fallen onto an antique vase, which crashed against an old lady who got her hands horribly cut on the shards. 

When I was eight, I happened to drop the some of the ice I had gotten to press against a fresh bruise on my temple into my teacher's drink. He got sick and was sent home for two weeks. 

When I was ten, I almost redid a year because I couldn't keep up during lessons, only to pass because of a miraculous slip of the papers inside the office. 

When I was twelve, I pissed off the resident top-girl (this was before Kyouko had become the idol) by having bigger boobs than her. She had been flat, so there were many to pick on, but having a real bra instead of a top just sealed the deal. 

Now I was fourteen years old, in the middle of my first year of Junior High, and nothing has gotten better. I trip and cause ripple effects when doing so, I've twisted my ankle and fractured my fingers more times than I can count and, last but certainly not least, I was a loner. Not because I wanted to (I never understood some antisocial people), but because people steered clear of Dame-Tsuna. 

No-good Tsuna. 

I wasn't going to lie. It was awful. But, honestly, it was actually true, too. The friends I used to have (three of them in total, actually), had all drifted away from me; subtle enough not to be a total heartbreak, but still noticeable once they were gone. One disappeared after I got him hospitalized by tripping down the stairs and dragging him with me, the second moved without much warning and incidentally forgot to leave any contacts or notices, while the third one, Kurokawa Hana, had had been a childhood friend from when I was three to six and turned away once I had accidentally spilled juice over her book for the fifth time in a week. It had been the end of that, but the good part was that it meant there had been a point in life when I wasn't a total clutz since she was a picky friend.

That brought me to my current predicament. Illogical situations weren't foreign to me, since bad luck and ridiculous events amassed around me as though I have a magnet to attract everything that one would not want to attract.

Point being, there was a baby at my doorstep. 

Or, a toddler reaching my knees, but in this case that wasn't an important detail. Sure, he was a cute thing with onyxes for eyes and a small smile framed by pudgy cheeks, dressed in an immaculate suit and a black fedora ringed with an orange band topped on his head. And he was fluent in Japanese. And he was  _standing_ and convincing mama he was a tutor who has come to help me pass this year. Standing there in a turquoise pajama with the middle button undone, two fingers wrapped in orange plasters and a bed head of fluffy brown hair resembling a mane, I spared a moment to think this was not a good first impression before realizing that this toddler couldn't be a tutor. (At least I was already awake- only because I was on my period and needed to change pads first thing in the morning.)

Mama seemed to have come to a different conclusion than me when it came to the reliability of his tutoring skills. Perhaps because she thought he was an unnaturally short adult. Maybe because she was secretly desperate. Possibly because she was just very oblivious and I was the only person who could actually perceive stuff. I knew I wasn't the smartest, far from it, but at least I noticed things, on the contrary to many others I knew. People could be horribly bright academically speaking, but completely unaware to the point where I suspected some suffered from selective-sight, selective-memory or selective-hearing. Idiots in the least academical sense ever. 

And then there was me. You don't want to see my grades.

"What do you mean, he's my tutor?" I blurted out, incredulous to the bone, and leveled a wide-eyed stare at Nana. She gave me a smile filled with cheer, summer holidays incarnate, and I knew I was done for when it came to this decision. Toddler tutor it was, then. 

"Oh, it's great, isn't it? All we have to do is give him three meals a day as well as a guest room," she informed me before retreating back into the kitchen, steps light and a hair's breadth from skipping. Her words trailed behind her like red flags of condemnation; "Breakfast is ready." 

I turned to the intruder, intending to glare like I'd seen Mochida or Kurokawa do but failing miserably. Feeling dejected, bulldozed, incredulous and generally sulking tended to do that to someone. I asked;  "How can a _toddler_ be a tutor?" 

He smiled up at me. It was the same cute smile my chemistry teacher would give before assigning a torturous essay. "I'm a hitman. I'm know to be the Home Tutor Hitman, Reborn." 

Obviously he said it with a straight face. I laughed, the nervous kind that frazzles halfway, and after a few seconds of watching his too-pleasant smile and his odd chameleon I awkwardly stopped. Like any normal person about to get their home invaded by an infringing toddler claiming to be a hitman and a tutor, I spun on my heel and raced back up the stairs, shins not bumping against the stairs even once, seeking refuge inside my precious room. I then spent two seconds mourning the loss of a normal morning, another two to wonder how Nana saw the world if she'd allow this, and another good, long moment to throughly bask in my wary dislike for the breaking-and-entering toddler. Then I realized that I'd end up being late for school if I didn't hurry up. Still wondering what was going on, I hollered through the door; "I'm gonna change, don't come inside!" 

At least it meant I could have five minutes in peace. I was having that odd, bad feeling I tended to have on days when something would happen. Like the time I waited for dad to come home even though go he never came, or when I wanted to dispose of a maths test where I only got one question out of thirty right but accidentally managed to get the bin to roll down a flight of stairs and mow down a group of students who fell in a heap in front of Hibari Kyouya. (Obviously the Demon Prefect didn't like the crowding so he beat them with his tonfa.) 

Namimori Middle's uniform wasn't too bad. The skirts were too short for my liking, though luckily longer than Midori's, and once too much had a hand brushed where it shouldn't. I wasn't the only one, because even if looking attractive in a curvaceous manner alleviated the worst bullying, people still didn't want to be too close to Dame-Tsuna when it came to friendship or dating. 

Sucked to be me, I guess. (At least I didn't have to worry about somebody wanting to date me for the sole reason of seeing my boobs naked.) I had to agree with Kurokawa on this one; males could be such monkeys. 

I headed downstairs again, tying the red ribbon around my neck as neatly as possible when I walked into the kitchen. 

Breakfast was suddenly an unnerving affair. Reborn sat on a stack of stiff pillows piled atop the chair next to mama, who obviously had no idea that there was a mentally challenged intruder in our house who I wouldn't trust for a second. When he saw me look at him he gave me that perfectly guileless smile that made red warning bells in my head blare. I might have been considered stupid (for a good reason), but I rarely got it wrong when it came to instincts or understanding people around me.

I took two bites from my rice before I lost my appetite, glowering at the specks of white as if they were to blame for the new addition to the household, and ended up gulping down the tea in an effort to get away from the two smiling people in front of me. 

"I gotta go or I'll be late," I called quickly as I paddled towards the door, slipping on the beige-yellow school jacket while struggling the bento into my bag with the other. Never had I felt so relieved to go to school, and that said a lot.

Obviously my escape wouldn't go smoothly. Reborn just jumped down from his chair and accompanied me as I walked out the house, shoes still cold around my feet. 

As if it were perfectly acceptable for him to accompany me to school. I suppressed a groan, whimper and shiver at once, and successfully managed to refrain from a conspicuous crab walk. I gave him my best smile, the one saved for emergencies such as convincing a teacher that I had misunderstood the due time of the homework or preparing to bolt because Mochida's hands had wandered on our way out of biology (I could never catch him red handed; by the time the class had crammed out of the narrow doorway and the touch lingering I would turn around and he'd be nowhere to be seen). "It's okay, I can get to school on my own." 

That was obviously when the street terror, a beetle-eyed chihuahua with a mean set of claws and teeth, escaped from its forced imprisonment in the garden. Aside from the deceptively cute little Reborn, perched upon a wall next to me, I was the only pedestrian on the street. Perfectly available for biting. 

I stared at it. 

It stared right back. 

 _'Menace_ ,' I thought, gulping like the scaredycat I was. 

 _'Food_ ,' it seemed to think, drooling like the hound it was. 

There was only one option for me.

I ran, only distantly aware that Reborn had fisted the thick tresses of my hair and was getting a free ride atop my scalp, bounding down the street like there was no tomorrow (which there, quite possibly, wasn't) with a bag painfully digging into the bone at the swell of my hip for every step. Maybe it was because I was on my period and it tracked the scent of blood, or perhaps it was only my bad luck (I'd never know), but while it would normally stopping chasing any passerby who could sprint fast enough the first five houses, it didn't stop now. 

It kept running and running and running, its small feet and claws hitting the ground as it galloped with its tongue out of the toothy maw like a pink flag and the tail wagging like crazy. I had made the mistake of stopping because of that happy tail, once. It was psycho enough to be excited at the prospect of biting people to death (much like the local up-and-coming-possibly-yakuza-boss-even-though-it's-officially-known-as-the-legal-Disciplinary-Committee Hibari); personal experience. At least I got to miss a geography test because I was in the hospital to get the bite wounds stitched. 

So there I was, running for my life with a baby in my hair, a bag bouncing bruisingly against my hip, a skirt that fluttered ridiculously around my thighs, a mad dog hot on my trail, all the while lamenting that I had chosen the wrong bra which made running painful because it was there mostly for comfort and not actual steadying. Not to mention that my appetite was returning. 

It isn't until three blocks down and a turn to the left that the telltale, raspy breath and paddling steps of the chihuahua died out. When glancing behind me, relieved, I watched as it dejectedly trotted back down the street and disappeared with hanging ears. I only blessed the deo I used this morning, noticing the slight sheen of perspiration on the back of my hand when I had wiped my forehead. 

By the time I reached school, Reborn had jumped off my head and disapearaed. At the schoolyard there was another anomaly. Normally, students would be scattered around in groups of two or three, with a rare quartet here and there, the talk would be a pleasant buzz with occasional spikes in volume. Instead there was a crowd gathered at the planted bushes not too far from the gym, and being my usual curious self who was naive enough to believe I had already used my dosis of bad luck for the day, I went straight there. The meaty labyrinth of students enveloped me like a blanket of insects, a suspenseful murmur thick in the air and the constant shifting and fidgeting causing a deep rustle. 

At the center of the half-circle stood two persons. One was Mochida, wearing his usual casually haughty smirk with thick black hair done _just so_ to look effortlessly attractive. The other one was Sasagawa Kyouko, alone, without Kurokawa Hana who usually flanked her and helped the ginger haired girl -the more oblivious and unsuspecting of the two- out of situations like these. 

"Kyouko-chan," Mochida started with a small bow, purely out formality, and the majority of girls around me cooed. Yamamoto definitely had the biggest fan club for being a first year, but Mochida was certainly popular, too. "Please be my girlfriend." 

The _please_ just sounded unnecessary and forced to me, who tended to get the less flattering attention, if I got any all, but Kyouko just blinked with fluttering lashes, all adorable confusion and naivety. She said; "Oh, eh..." 

His lips curved wider, accomplished, wrapping an arm around her waist as if she'd already replied the positive; "Great, how 'bout we meet after school, eh?" 

The girls squealed, awed and shipping, the boys acting like doofuses as they elbowed each other with joking groans of disappointment and encouragement. I just... saw it play out. Wondered why nobody was reacting. Wasn't somebody supposed to do something; I had never been close to Kyouko, but there was a kindness and heartfelt care about her that drew people in. I looked at her, saw the realization in sink in with the slowness of poison, the knowledge that despite being an idol nobody was standing up for her, nobody thinking there was even a possibility of saying no to the kendo captain. 

Where was the other Sasagawa, the one with short white hair and tan skin who, despite being her older brother, looked and acted nothing like her? Wasn't defending the sibling the role of older brothers? 

Where was Kurokawa Hana, the one person with the firmest grasp of reality and maturity in the entire school? 

Where was the loyalty of all those friends she had in the crowd? 

"Oi, M-Mochida! She never got t-to reply!" 

There _was_ somebody, after all. It took me a moment to realize that odd, bordering squeaky defense came from me. Oh. _Oh_. I almost choked on my own spit as dozens of eyes whipped to me and nailed me to the ground. 

Maybe I had said it because my morning had already been so bad that I simply didn't care anymore. Maybe it was because of a sudden decrease in brain capacity. Though likely because my day so far had been too hectic for me to be rational. 

"Dame-Tsuna?" Anybody could've said it, really; probably many did. All I saw for one moment was a pair of big, lime-golden staring at me as if I was either a savior or an alien with two heads; Kyouko looked so surprised that I had said it, that somebody had finally scraped together some backbone, that I dumbly stared back for a moment. I mentally agreed that me being an alien with two heads was likelier than me going head to head with Mochida. 

"I-I mean," I continued when the kendo captain's dark eyes fastened on my like hooks, expression both vexed and mocking. It was a miracle I hadn't bolted or squeaked yet. "She, uh, she should decide for herself. I mean- maybe she doesn't want to just go along with whatever you say. Uh, yeah... J-just let her reply on her own-" 

The raven stared at me for a moment, expression slowly turning into something closer to a bristle. The brunt of my attention was on the furious glint in Mochida's eye. 

Oh. 

 _Oh_. 

Bruised-manly-ego-class-anger alert. 

I did what I was best at. I scrambled out of the crowd and bolted. A bit pathetic, I know, but I'd rather get out of there before he got angry enough to do something rash or Hibari would notice the crowding and get annoyed. 

At least I'd survive. 

. 

As it turned out, Mochida had no plans on letting me survive for very long. By lunch, the entire school had heard that he was challenging me to a kendo match. That meant I was about to get my ass handed to me in front of an audience. I knew next to nothing about swords or the rules, let stand how to wield a bokken or bamboo blade. That meant that I was screwed. At least I had two options. Either go there and return with nasty bruises, possibly a fractured rib or two, get laughed at and be in pain for the coming days or even weeks as well as worrying Nana to death, or chicken out and have a couple of people laugh for a few days before it all blew over.

That was not even a choice. No way I'd make a fool out of myself in the gym and spend the near future as a walking bruise. I wasn't a complete idiot. That was why I was conveniently on my way home instead of walking towards my doom. 

"The dojo is the other way," a voice piped up next to me. I jumped, hairs in the back of my neck rising as my nerves were shocked into haywire for a second. I could've sworn the hallway was empty. To make it worse, when looking around it really _was_ void of anybody, excluding me.

"Uh, hello?" The words echoed against the walls, empty and dry, and I swallowed. "Is there anyone here?" 

There was a slow and creaking sound, a movement in my peripheral vision, the hairs in the back of my heck standing up, and then- 

" _Hiiieee_!"

My vocal capacities certainly weren't bad, even if they'd produce pathetic shrieks once too often. There, hanging upside down right outside the window, was a pleasantly smiling Reborn. It was a miracle that his fedora hadn't fallen off his head. 

"Are you running away? You seem rather used to it," he said while I rushed to open the window, heart beating in my chest at the thought of how his tiny little body could end up as a mangled corpse on the schoolyard. Even if he was the cataclysm to this horrendous day, he remained a cute little baby. "Run away now and you'll keep running forever." 

I was pretty sure he was quoting something, but couldn't place it. "What are you doing?" I hissed instead, completely ready to scurry away at the sight of somebody else. Luckily most had gathered at the gym, which meant I had a free shot at escaping. 

"As your tutor, I'm allowed to keep a watch over you at all times," he clarified with guileless eyes that I somehow  _knew_ were mocking and amused at my expense. He might be in the form of a toddler, but everything about him, including speech, was more mature than most at school. It threw me for a loop and made me designate him under the term _unnatural_. As if the day hadn't given it away. "Now, will you really take a step back after finally scraping together a hint of respect?" 

"Haa- yeah, obviously, I'm not suicidal," I shrugged and peered around me once again, relieved that the hallways remained vacant. "Mochida will kill me if I show up." 

"So you'd rather prove to the school that you're a loser who can't even stand up for somebody's rights," Reborn hummed, as if he had said something completely normal that didn't manipulate my heartstrings. 

"No- I mean, there are like lots of others out there who can do that for me," I protested, but thought of how nobody ever questioned Mochida or captains in general and how dating was seen as a lucky guy picking up a girl and the girl giggling and blushing and nodding. 

"The same way that those others stood up for Sasagawa Kyouko-chan?" He questioned, and his salvo of words struck a bull's eye inside. I blinked away an image of the way Kyouko had looked at _me_ , Dame-Tsuna, the only one who had stepped up. 

"No way," I refused after a moment, and crossed pathetically weak arms over the swell of my chest. "No way." 

Which is why I simply couldn't understand why on earth I was still making my way towards the gym. When sliding the door open, I was already feeling a little faint. The cacophony of conversations died down to a rippling murmur, countless of eyes turning to stare at me. I felt as disbelieving and startled as they looked. I was also extremely aware of the fact that Mochida stood in something vaguely resembling pieces of samurai armor while I stood there in my uniform; a white blouse and a red ribbon, paired with a dark navy vest and a skirt that barely brushed to mid-thigh. 

"Can't believe she came-" 

"This is gonna be good-" 

"She should've ran-" 

 _Thanks_. 

That really helped my confidence. Privately, I agreed, though. 

Mochida barked out a string of laughter, pointing his bamboo sword at me, grin wide and confident and honestly, he had all the rights to chortle and sing arrogant praises about himself. I was going to die, but at least I'd die a noble death. I hoped mama had lots of painkillers and salves against bruises. 

"Heh, you're a newbie at this, so I'll make this easier for you! Score an ippon within ten minutes and you've won!" His voice echoed against the wall, my nerves grated against and stress levels rising. In my peripheral vision, I could see Hana and Kyouko on the front row. There were other faces I recognized, too, of which many from my class; popular athlete Yamamoto Takeshi, the rich Okamu and his gang. Oh joy. Even Sasagawa Ryouhei was there, as well as many seniors, and I was certain I glimpsed a member of the DC. This would be embarrassing, but funnily enough, I couldn't find it in myself to completely regret coming here. 

I was probably going nuts. 

And- hold on- what exactly was considered an ippon? 

I didn't get a chance to ask before the referee told us to get ready. I stared at the raven in front of me, and was certain that my heart was beating hard enough to leave a tattoo on the inside of my ribcage. Someone threw a sword at me, because evidently Mochida wasn't going to give me one. Could've been Yamamoto -bless him- but it didn't make much of a difference in my situation. 

The whistle blew, resonating in the air. 

I stared at Mochida, trying to hide the fact that my knees were shaking. 

And then he charged, stick poised and his swing synchronized with his steps. I made a miserable attempt at parrying, only to have my own sword swiped from my hands as if I hadn't been holding onto the handle for dear life. Probably some kendo technique I'd never learn. My heart beat fasted in my chest, a wild and drumming dance, every nerve in my body in the edge. My mind was a jumbled frenzy, synapses struggling to link input of information to coordinating my limbs.

I dodged his next attack, throwing myself to the left and almost tripping. I did what any sane person about to get whacked by a mean stick would do; I retreated and dodged and ran across the room, sidestepping and jumping evey second step as fear clawed in my throat. I couldn't hear anybody anymore, couldn't focus on anything other than the nasty gleam in his eye and the smirk stretching his lips and the way his sword went for the most painful parts of my body. 

After a stinging hit to my left ribs that left me wheezing and stumbling back, I turned on my heel and ran. 

Obviously I tripped over my own shoelace. 

I had fallen often enough to land on all fours without hurting myself too badly, but when turning around with clumsy swiftness Mochida had already caught up and was looming over me, sword angled for a finishing strike to my stomach. 

And then-

I was dying. 

It was very sudden. Mochida hadn't even touched me yet, and still I could feel the life draining out of me while a pang of immense pain burned in my forehead, almost instantly numbed. I wished that, since I would've literally died anyway, I had fought better against him and not ran around like a headless chicken. Maybe I could've gotten that ippon; I really wish I had. I hadn't had anything to loose, after all. 

And then I was _dead_. 

.

A spark. 

There was warmth, deep inside and suddenly ignited, burning small but fiercely. It grew, orange flames licking higher and higher and wilder, spreading inside with life force and determination that almost left me breathless. A raging force of nature tearing through me, roaring to life from within, every cell in my body at my disposal and burning with _lifelifelife_. Determination had taken the place of blood, neither calm nor furious, simply there in its bullheaded focus. 

I wasn't dead, and I had an ippon to score. 

I saw Mochida, didn't feel any hesitation, and pounced back from my half-corpse position on the ground, a roar on my lips and heart singing. I didn't think very much, only _felt_ , and the way Mochida hit the floor after I had tackled him felt distinctly triumphant.

Now for the ippon.

It wasn't like they had given me details, so I fisted his stupid fringe, feeling the tresses of ink between my fingers, and pulled with all my might. He shrieked, more girly than I had ever sounded, and I gave the referee a hard stare as I held up a fistful of black hair; "That enough!? S'not _one_ , but a _hundred_!" 

The older boy just stared, arm shaking but not daring to lift a flag. My intuition told me Mochida had him in his pocket, but the knowledge left me undeterred. 

The fire crackled inside. 

I thought of wandering hands when I ripped another fistful of hair, knuckles white. 

I thought of being called Dame-Tsuna, and threw a third batch of hair over my shoulder. 

I thought about the way he and many others considered Kyouko, no, girls in general, prizes and objects. 

And the fire raged in my ears, sizzled in my blood, a lion's roar. 

"Is that enough yet!?" My voice was strong, if not a little hoarse, the ripping sound of hair drowned out as the crowd's exclamations grew louder. "Eh, Mochida!?" 

Fingers enclosing around more hair, more thick strands, I pulled without remorse. There was only the inferno inside, hot and warm, life incarnate. 

Finally, the referee found his voice. "S-stop! Sawada wins the match!" 

The fire stilled. 

My brain returned. 

Oh. 

 _Oh_. 

Wait what?

Hadn't I _died_? 

I was sitting in the middle of the dojo, Mochida's quivering form curled up next to me, a sea of hair around us like inky grass. Voices battled around us, many elated and surprised, and suddenly Dame-Tsuna was no longer spoken as a mockery; it was just a habit. And on top of that, I could see my unexplainably shredded clothes in a heap where I had thought I had died. I was only wearing a bra and panties, a lavender set that exposed too much of my boobs which certainly weren't small for my age. That wasn't even supposed to be possible and something churned inside, although I felt too drained and shocked to scream. 

The pandemonium around me was like the pages of a comic book being flicked through too quickly for me to make sense of, not quite blurred together but distant enough to feel alien. 

A yellow school-jacket was thrown across my shoulders, and the next thing I knew was that Hana and Kyouko were on either side. 

"What are you staring at?" Hana scowled irritatedly at every male within vicinity and I pulled the jacket closer around, drawing my legs closer as hints of embarrassment seeped into my system despite my baffled state. "Monkeys, all of you!"  

"You were amazing," Kyouko praised with a small, warm smile, resting a hand on my shoulder. "I can call you Tsuna-chan, right?" 

"Uh, yeah, of course," I agreed without much fuss, nodding along and trying to make sense of the situation. Somewhere above, I saw Reborn. He looked too smug not to have anything to do with my death-and-resurrection, but at the moment I was fine with sitting there a little longer until I could say for sure I wouldn't end up tripping first thing. 

And maybe get my uniform fixed, because too many people had seen me in my underwear today.

.

.

.

 


	2. I Develop a Skill in Avoiding Being Blown Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Omg, thank you so very much everyone! The comments made my day and the kudos topped it all like a machine-gunning of cherries atop the cake^^ 
> 
> Alternative titles;  
> I get to Know a Dangerous Person  
> I am Mistakenly Assumed a Hardcore, Violent Feminist  
> I Completely Fail at Having an Ordinary Life  
> I Surround Myself with Very Attractive People  
> It's Raining Dynamite (Hallelujah) 
> 
> Also, the biggest difference between the manga and anime when it comes to Gokudera is the smoking. (Uh, censoring alert!?) So I'll probably combine them, I think? Maybe? Like, as in he smokes but the miraculous lighting of his dynamite remains a mystery? 
> 
> Warning: Tsuna trying to figure out how to get home after once again losing her clothes? Bra issues? (Personally I don't think that needs warning, so for now on I'll only tell you in case I think it's necessary. The story is rated T, so there won't be anything too mature, but for sensitive readers? I don't know???)

I had never considered myself an athletic person. Reborn was clearly intent on making me one despite my aptitude for sports being abysmal. At first I didn't notice, but since I prided myself on my intuition, or at least my perception, it only took a couple of days before I noticed that _apparently_ he had given Nana a tip of using me as an errand girl. _Apparently_ lots of physical activity wasn't just good for the body but also the mind, something about braincells. Mama had been ecstatic. Not only would she get more help at home, but her little Tsu-chan would be improving her pitiful stamina. It was embarrassing to admit I was in a bad enough shape to make running past the chihuahua another time every day and jogging to the shop in the early evening a huge difference. On the other hand, maybe my sports grade would improve? 

After learning that, _apparently_ , I was a candidate for boss-position in a mafia family, not even the prospect of improving my grades could make up for it.  _The_ mafia family of mafia families, if Reborn's tale was anything to go by, and even if I was quick to say I wanted nothing at all to do with the Vongola he simply said; "I never fail a job." Which meant he'd stick to me until he pushed me onto a throne. 

I wasn't amused. 

I wasn't even considering actually becoming a boss, but he'd never listen. Few actually listened to me, now that I thought if it. It was a bit depressing. 

However, one good thing had come of the Reborn fiasco (under which there were various sub-categories, such as being thrust into athletics, the Mochida horror story with Reborn actually _shooting_ me, a general increase in stress, and many more), was that although people still called me Dame-Tsuna, it lacked the sting and viciousness it had carried before. Now they said it because they had always called me so, but apparently beating a kendo captain (and parading your boobs in front of a crowd) did wonders sometimes. 

Arriving at school, sky clear of clouds and school clear of Hibari for the moment, it started out normally.

Except nothing was normal. (And that was excluding the morning's startling run-in with a Midori-middle girl with her dark hair in a ponytail and a mind set on the fact that I was bad influence for Reborn. It was awful.)

Kyouko and Hana would wait for me if they saw me and greet me every morning. The feminist movement would pat my shoulder if they passed, and even Yamamoto, one of the school's most popular athletes, would say _hi_ to me with one of those cheerful smiles of his. 

So everything was actually completely, fundamentally different. 

I quite liked that particular difference as well, but I just wished it wasn't a side effect of Reborn showing up and kicking me into the mafia world. Though luckily there hadn't been any mafia business, and I'd honestly appreciate if it stayed that way. (I knew it wouldn't, my head would tingle and my stomach churn, and I'd have this gut feeling that the peace wouldn't last.) Of course, another difference was that for once, when taking a shortcut to sports by going behind the school building -a location most often used to hide from the DC for a good snog- I didn't interrupt something vaguely pornographic. 

Inside class, students were milling around and talking at others' desks until the teacher would come, at which everyone would scurry to their rightful place and pretend to have been there all along as if they hadn't been leaning against walls and desks and people seconds ago. I always stayed at my own desk because not only was there an embarrassing small amount of people I actually considered friends, but leaning against anybody would make them nervous since I'd accidentally trip them up. It wasn't like I was terrible in social situations -in fact, when it came to socializing I considered myself quite average- but being Dame-Tsuna didn't just entail being a laughingstock and failure at all subjects. I didn't think I was necessarily a completely braindead caveman, but whenever we had tests my brain would freeze up and my concentration would drop. And don't get me started on the sports tests. Homework was my saving grace, but just barely since in the end, academics really weren't my forte. (Did I even _have_ a forte?)

As expected, when the teacher arrived everyone flashed back into their rightful places and stared up at the man with guileless expressions that rewarded us with a long look impossible to misinterpret, before he sighed, leadlike, and finally addressed us; "We have a new student arriving today, Gokudera Hayato."

I sat a bit straighter and tilted my head to catch a better glimpse of the person sauntering into the room the room. He was foreign, was the first glaring trait in the form of snowy skin, olive eyes and silver hair. The second thing that struck me was his sloppy uniform -Hibari would be rubbed the wrong way, for sure- and the excessive amount of accessories; leather bands, gleaming rings, a chain around his neck. Despite features which seemed, at least to me, almost delicately aristocratic, as though he wrapped himself in the roughness and edges out of choice more than nature. 

He was also very handsome, but that was beside the point. 

He scowled at the class, slight but obvious, and most of the male population seemed to take him as a threat to their manliness since they squared their shoulders, bared their teeth and sat straighter. Yamamoto was oblivious, smiling blithely, but that was to be expected (he was handsome too, come to think of it, only in a more goodnatured and sporty way). Most of the girls drooled at the sight of Gokudera, with various light sighs, pleased blushes and coy smiles. 

I tried to disappear into my seat, my apprehension only intensified when his glower fastened onto me and seemed to want to burn me to ashes with willpower alone. There were shadows in the jades of his eyes, something dark and hateful, and I just _couldn't figure out_ what I had done wrong. 

Why was it always _me_? 

When he passed me on his way to his seat, which unsurprisingly was all at the back, he stopped and I shrunk back. Have you ever had an extremely dangerous looking fellow glare at you as if you were the scum of the earth? As in, an I-want-to-kill-you-on-spot stare filled with threats and bloody promises? I'm willing to bet you haven't. And if you have, that's fine, because then I can bet you haven't had Gokudera Hayato glower at you with too much spite for there not to be some sort of grudge. 

He kicked my desk away, the iron leg clanking against my chair and very own foot -which hurt _so_ _so so_ much that I shrieked in front of everyone- and proceeded down the class. 

The males bristled even more, puffing up, and Hana mumbled something about monkeys I had to agree with. She and Kyouko were one of the few girls who didn't look even more in love with him that before, and honestly, looking at the other girls around me did little for my lacking understanding of the female mind. Yamamoto was giving my table, which had crashed into his own diagonally behind me, a questioning, confused look, as if he wasn't certain how it had arrived there. The boys around him tensed and peacocked even more, glares shared and the scowls bubbling to the surface. 

I'll give you a fair warning: _testosterone were levels reaching dangerous heights_. 

I sulked in my chair, lacking both desk and pride. 

Gokudera drowned me with angry stares the entire lesson.

.

Towards the end of the day, I was pretty sure nothing more could happen. Was I wrong? Yes, yes I was.

I had already watched a volleyball game, finished a test I might actually have passed, got back a test I completely failed, tripped down a staircase  _and_ dropped a glass of milk onto a guy I had never seen before. Although, the last incident was seen as something done on purpose and not an accident, since he had been bullying some shy girl I had never seen before. Apparently I had some hidden, feminists demon with aggressive outbursts, according to the more imaginative gossipers, though nobody actually believed that, least of all me. 

( _"What the fuck is your problem," he snarled, a cold and wet splotch staining his uniform. I'm pretty sure I blanched at that._

 _"Sorry, it was an accident, eh, sorry sorry-" I had started, clutching the now empty, gray tray to my chest. The plastic glass of milk was on the floor, my bento still on the table behind me. Apparently loading trays was already too much for me to handle. He fisted the collar of my uniform, and I squeaked as I tried to stumble back away from him. Only, I tripped and by some miraculous stroke of luck, or un-luck, gave him a mean uppercut with the tray._ ) 

Then Gokudera Hayato happened. 

I had been on my way back from school, not even off the school grounds, when a shadow loomed over me. Gokudera had to lean forward to get into my face (and as a side note, also being absolutely successful in intimidating me), a cigarette between his pale, chapped lips. It took me a moment to establish he was _far_ tooclose for my liking, the proximity enough to tell apart the strands of silver framing his face, the details of the unimpressed scowl. He smelled of cigarette smoke and cologne -distinctly manly, come to think of it- but I thought only of how my stomach was churning and the warning bells blaring in my head. There was an underlying scent too, one I couldn't place, something like burnt wood or chemical reactions. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what it was. 

"You're supposed to be the Vongola Juudaime?" He finally said, and snorted. My blood ran cold; I wasn't sure what exactly this would lead to, but he was not someone I wanted to discuss my future with. Probably because he seemed like he'd want to cut my future very, _very_ short. 

"Uhh," I started, intelligently, and glanced around me. I was all alone with a handsome boy, who had been the one to take the initiative to talk to me, behind the school building which was _the_ place for making out. It was far from as romantic as it sounded. "Er, no. No, I have no idea what you're talking about. You've got the wrong person." 

He snorted again, curve of his lips haughty and disdainful, glaring down on me as if I were a particularly annoying ant. I gave him a smile, admittedly a fixed one that shook at the edges and trembled in about every sense possible, and felt like crying for help. I didn't, of course, because then he'd figure out I was _that_ Vongola. Only I wasn't a Vongola, because I wouldn't become a mafia boss, so why was a worried? 

I glanced up at him and rediscovered why I was so scared. 

"You're an awful liar," Gokudera told me, threw the cigarette to the ground and extinguished it with a decisive crush of his shoe. I stumbled two steps back, holding onto the strap of my messenger back as if my life depended on it. His expression was a terrifying truce between a sneer and a smirk. "I'll make this easy for you to understand. You die, I become Vongola boss. Are we clear?" 

I did what any normal person would do. I froze and stared at him as if he had grown two heads. And then he conjured dynamite from his sleeves, which lit _just like that_  -my eyes were close to popping out from my skull by then- and finally I regained enough brain capacity to turn on my heel, dropping by my bag in the process and _runrun_ _run_. My heart was racing, beating bruises onto the inside of my ribs, fear speeding along my nervous system like insects in a sugar high, out of control and erratic. 

Why- did- he- have- dynamite?

_(Vongola Juudaime- boss- die- dynamites-)_

The explosives detonated all around me, miraculously not hitting, but the dry heat seared against my skin and their rippling force almost made me trip. I was pretty sure I wouldn't have any little hairs left on my forearms after this. I glanced around just in time to see him fish out even more dynamite from about everywhere in his outfit -which I was certain was impossible- and with an ear-piercing scream I changed direction the second he had thrown them towards me. 

One exploded nearby, the shockwave tripping me up, and that was that.

I face planted with the floor, probably flashing the doves flying away behind me. I was terrified, the kind of panic that sewed your vocal chords shut and knotted your stomach into ribbons, curdled your blood and froze your mind. 

I was going to- I would- I was- I was going- I was going to-

I was going to  _die_. 

I was going to be killed,  _murdered_ , at school. 

Only a few days ago, I had been useless, clumsy Dame-Tsuna, who even though being miserable, was still safe. Never had I wished myself back to those days more than now. 

Tears gathered, something I hadn't noticed once the wetness clung to the skin around my eyes. I supposed I was glad he couldn't see me crying. Then I thought about mum. Sawada Nana, who loved Sawada Iemitsu despite him being as unreliable as they got, who had taken care of me and loved _me_ with all her heart even if I had brought her nothing but trouble and stress. Now she'd be alone, alone _alone_ -

And then I died. 

It wasn't from an explosion, I knew that much. Instinctively I related it to how I had died during my fight with Mochida. And then that familiar orange, fiery haze rolled over my mind, a burning wool, fire and light in my veins, molten iron and Nana's homemade energy bars. 

I roared, and only thought about extinguishing the dynamite. Everything else faded, was unimportant. When I jumped I must've broken the school record, when I ran I must've broken the local record. There was no pain, nothing at all, even when I closed my hand around the flickering flames time after time, when something in the back of my head registered the wounds being burned into my palms, the searing heat gnawing ugly blisters and angry wounds. 

Thoughts muddled together, disappeared. It was raining dynamite, and I was defeating each and every one of them. There were no mistakes, no stepping on my own toes, no sobs as skin hissed. I wasn't calm, by any means; I couldn't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure I roared more than once. 

And then there was only one left, clumsily dropped right at Gokudera's own feet. The little voice in the back of my head told me that for once, I wasn't the one to mess up first. 

With a great leap I was there, tackling him down to get there in time, pressing a single finger down onto the small flame flickering precariously close to the explosive. For a moment, there was triumph. 

Then my brain returned. 

I was in my underwear again. A soft beige bra that had at some point been a bit more yellow but faded after excessive use. It was my most comfortable one, but didn't match my gray panties. It wasn't like I prepared for this miraculous clothes-shredding every morning (maybe I should).

Awareness spread from me to what went on around me.

I was straddling him, his body solid and warm underneath mine, and every cell in my body where his warmth radiated through his clothes tingled. I couldn't blame him for looking at my boobs, even I had to admit they were nice, but at the moment my brain seemed to have come back just to freeze up again. 

I was half naked and straddling an attractive guy behind the school.

It still wasn't as hot as it sounded. 

" _Hiiieee_!" 

I fell away from him, an awkward tangle of arms and legs trying to cover myself. I wasn't generally a person easily embarrassed, but this guy had just tried to kill me; obviously I didn't trust him, even if he stayed sprawled over the ground like a sea-star, staring up at the sky as if the answer to the situation would be written on the clouds. 

We sat there for a few moments. 

It must've been the shock, leaving me with some degree of adrenaline and a semblance of self control. I wasn't freaking out, at least.

I stared down at my toes. I needed to cut my toenails, Nana would scold me if she saw their length. I tried not to think about the muscle underneath his school uniform, nor about how the threat seemed to have unexplainably disappeared. 

And the he rolled over a bowed deeply to me, as if he were praying to Buddha. I looked around me, spotted my clothes a few steps away, and then turned to the brunt of my attention to the bow-praying Gokudera. "I'm so sorry! You're definitely worthy of becoming the Vongola Decima! You saved my life, let me give it to you- I'd give my life for you- sorry, sorry-" 

I stared at him for a moment, something itching in my throat -probably a choked sob or another shriek- and wrapped my arms around my legs and tried to become as small as possible. "Ah, no, don't worry. Everything's fine now- as long as you don't try to kill me, I mean. Actually, my clothes- I kind of need my clothes-" 

He was gone in a flash, and the next thing I knew was that he was brightly grinning down at me and shoving my ripped clothes in my face. The skirt was fine and the jacket could be salvaged, but the blouse needed serious repairs. Skirt and socks went on, followed by the shoes, Gokudera keeping watch to make sure nobody came -consequently scaring off a trio who had been about to amble past- and returned once I had the jacket on. 

I was very careful to be clinical and think of nothing. Exactly _nothing_. 

We sat in silence for a moment and stared at the blouse. I had to give him credit for not glancing at the ridiculously deep cut of the jacket that showed enough cleavage for it to be lethal.

Pain was slowly returning, the blisters on my palms and fingers swollen, blotchy and angry red, blood showing through seared skin (the worst was yet to come, I knew). I still only thought about breathing. My mind was static and buzzing, running a million miles and hour and standing still at the same time. I focused on thinking about nothing, nothing,  _nothing_. 

In the end he took his own button-up off, since school was finished anyway and he was wearing a black T-shirt underneath, and I turned my back to him as I slipped the jacket off and buttoned his shirt, pale fingers shaking and fumbling. It smelled just like him, cigarettes with cologne and underlying hint of explosives. It made something tingle in the back of my throat. 

There. Done. 

As it turned out -because obviously that just had to happen- being an early bloomer with leanings to more curves than birdlike slenderness didn't agree with wearing inflexible men's shirts, especially not with a bra, and it strained horribly against the stark white material. I glanced over my shoulder, gave Gokudera a helpless stare which he answered with a mildly panicked one. 

I wondered where that change of heart had come from.  

In the end the bra was slipped of, breasts flattened by the shirt and covered by the yellow school jacket. It was all too embarrassing to be true, but it'd have to make do. He was stiffly looking the other direction the entire time, reminding me of a guard dog. 

If I held into the strap of my messenger bag harder than normally when facing him, a little oddly at that to not make the wounds catch against the material and forearms tactically covering my chest, he didn't comment on it.

The bra was hidden between my schoolbooks in my bag. 

Then Yamamoto turned around the corner. 

Gokudera scowled at the sight of another human within vicinity. I offered the athlete an awkward smile; "Oh, Yamamoto-kun, hello, hi, hi. _Hi_."

"Tsuna-chan, Gokudera!" He waved and, please tell me this wasn't happening, walked over straight to us. "What's up?" 

Gokudera bristled. I tried to look normal. I didn't think I failed too much. 

"Nothing much," I shrugged with a trembling smile and embarrassed, hysterical laughter building in the pit of my stomach. What was happening to my life? "We were just in our way home." 

His smile widened, kind and merry, attractive in all the cheerful, boyish ways it could be. The tanned skin around his hazel eyes crinkled. "Oh, really? I'll walk with you!" 

And that was how I was accompanied home by two of the school's most attractive guys. Mum was ecstatic when I entered the kitchen after wishing them a good afternoon. 

"Are they your friends?" She asked with a too bright smile. "Kyouko-chan and Hana-chan yesterday, and now two handsome young men? My little Tsu-chan is growing up." 

She sounded too happy for me to break it to her that they weren't potential love interests. (Not that I'd mind if they would be, at some point in the future, but not today. Not right no when I was recovering from a shock and was hiding my bra in my bag. And wearing someone else's shirt; how'd I explain _that_ to her if she noticed?) "Yes, they're great _friends_. I kind of have a lot of homework to do, so, uh- see you." 

I scurried up the stairs like the coward I was, and collapsed onto my soft, safe bed. Reborn would have to understand, at least he could give me an hour's break. 

I was naive. 

The second I had rinsed my hands, wrapped them in plasters, slipped a comfortable shirt and _bra_ back on, the geography book was thrown at my head. 

.

Reborn was an odd kid. I may not be smart, but even I knew babies weren't _ever_  hitmen. They didn't walk, talk, understand, let alone wield guns and jump around like he did, plotting and manipulating as he went. What with my own deaths and resurrections, the Dying Will Flames and impossible situations, I was inclined to believe there was something supernatural -or whatever- when it came to baby hitmen. My belief was cemented only a few hours after falling asleep. 

It was the middle of the night when I woke up, spent a moment being groggy and then marinated in despair at the amount of sleep I was missing out on. I had school tomorrow, things to worry about. I didn't have time to wake up and go to the toilet during the dead hours. 

Apparently logic didn't apply, que me heading out into the dark hallway where only a small lamp was lit, barely visible, casting a warm orange shine over the floor. It had always been there, to make sure nobody would trip if they were in need to the toilet but weren't certain where to put their feet. 

Halfway, I froze. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my skin crawled, fear embedded into my heart, pierced deep and sudden like an arrow. My throat constricted, I glanced around and- 

Reborn was there. 

It took a moment to recognize him, since he wore a striped pajama and a night cap instead of his usual sharp suit and classy fedora. I scratched the back of my head, sheepish at the lame way I had thought -in a bout of suddenly developed paranoia- that a mafioso was lurking around with the intent to blast a bullet through my poor little head. 

Then it struck me his shadow was all wrong. He was standing just next to the light, so of course it would be enlarged and stretched, but the proportions were off. The shadow was tall, lean and slender, _with the fedora atop his head,_ and a slimmer, more elegant profile. My heart stuttered in my chest, and I whipped around to stare in the other direction, thinking I _really_ needed to go to the toilet now with the additional reason to be alone for a while. "Eh," I said, intelligent as ever. "I'll- go now- toilet stuff." 

I locked the door behind me, every breath slow and thick in my lungs, swallowing suddenly difficult. I had never been prone to hallucinations, and that churning, reliable intuition deep in my gut told me that was most certainly _real_. It didn't make sense, but neither did Flames. 

I heaved a sigh, deep and lead like. 

It was only Reborn, so I didn't need to be (too) worried. Had it been an assassin, then it would've been a different story, but it wasn't. I was fine. Mama was fine, the house was safe and there were no dangers within my very own house. Everything- was-  _fine_. 

(Besides, who would want me dead, let alone get here to sleepy Namimori with a smuggled gun or two to blow my head up?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xanxus sneezes, fresh out of the ice. Squalo cackles and says he's got a cold. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, next up; Lambo, Haru and Bianchi barge into my story. Ish. Some more than others. But still, it counts?  
> Also, I'm currently trying to find a fic-summary that fits better -or at least sounds good to my own ears- but it's not really working... I'll try to stop messing around with the summary until the next update.  
> Take care!


	3. My Life Gets (Even) Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for the lovely comments, they really meant a lot to me! I would like to say I could live of them, but I kind of like food and water, but it's a close call. They certainly give me the moral support to make it through school. 
> 
> Personally, I'm 100% unconvinced by the opening line, but at least I found it a little relatable. I kind of like relatable. Chocolate cravings are relatable. Waking up horribly early on weekdays despite every cell screaming in protest, and then waking up equally early on weekends despite having nothing planned on the morning is relatable. Always losing one sock in the pair instead of both is relatable.  
> Look at that, I was rambling again^^ 
> 
> Now, as a side not that's kind of important but has probably been made clear through what little of the story we have been able to cover, but I'm trying to keep a humorous side to it despite any eventual darker turns it may take (uh, Varia and Byakuran alert?). I think I managed not to make it depressing, though. I'm good at making my stories unintentionally depressing. It's a bit of a skill. Or more like an accident, really. It kind of happens a little. Just a little. Not on purpose.  
> And doesn't that say a lot about how good a grasp I have on my own writing style? 
> 
> Alternate Titles;  
> I Commit an Accidental Murder  
> My Life Doesn't Want To Stay Ordinary  
> I Meet More Dangerous People
> 
> Warnings: descriptions of the violent, accidental death of the chihuahua. 

When I woke up it was nothing like that princess-y rousing with a delicate yawn nor that modern-American-movie style of sitting up straight with a startling shriek at the realization I was late. Rather, I belatedly blinked at the broken alarm without really registering I needed to start heading to school in fifteen minutes. Like a squiggly mass of slime I slid out of bed, dragged myself to the wardrobe on autopilot alone despite my brain firmly insisting on staying underneath the blanket and sleeping on.

Once I had managed to stumble into my uniform, redoing to buttons to the white blouse only twice, my thoughts were turning coherent after their dozing mushiness and consequently I sprinted down the flight of stairs in a panicked hurry, slipped on a sock as if it were a banana peal, and bolted into the kitchen with an enraged Hibari in mind. Nana, bless her, only smiled and already had my bento ready, washing up a frying pan with her usual oblivious serenity. (People should be more like mum, then there'd be less war), and I was free to run towards school after two mouthfuls of rice on my way out.

It was after rounding the corner ensuring safety after being chased by the bloodthirsty, beetle-eyed chihuahua that I ran into the first abnormality of the day. I prided myself in at least vaguely recognizing most people who were up early in the morning, but the rose-haired woman whom I had almost knocked off her bike didn't ring a single bell. Except- maybe- those olive eyes were definitely familiar, and something about the delicately straight nose told me I had seen it before.

"Oh, sorry," she gasped, a faint hint of a rich, warm accent lilting her fluent words. It was barely present, but I heard it nonetheless in her rather throaty voice. She stepped down from her bike and helped me up, long fingers wrapping around my wrist and hoisting me up as if I weighed nothing. She must be spending a lot of time in the gym.

"No no no, uh, it's my fault, I'm really sorry," I assured with the speed of a cheetah pounce, but the beautiful woman in front of me waved it off and searched her neat bag for a moment before conjuring a can of fizzy drink of a brand I didn't recognize.

"You can take this as an apology, I almost ran you over," she said as she pressed the cool drink into my hands, bloody red nail polish looking like gaping wounds upon the tips of her fingers. Then she smiled, as beautiful as I should've expected, and off she was with a flick of her violet-rosy hair, long legs efficient on her bike.

Well then, it's always nice to have chatted with a potential model.

I felt bad, though. While I could eat a ridiculous amount of sweets without getting sick, fizzy drinks had an uncanny ability to make me feel ill were I to consume too much. Then I figured that since I had ended up leaving two minutes earlier than usual thanks to eating almost nothing on my rush out, I might as well at least taste it. It wasn't like Reborn was here to chide me.

I opened the can with a sigh.

That was when the hairs on the back of my neck rose, my gut churning like boa constrictors on a rampage. The cause of the instinctive fear became apparent a menacing growl later; the chihuahua had followed me further than usual.

Call me pathetic, but I screamed.

It was the sort of high-pitched scream that tore out vocal cords and caused tinnitus, and the monstrous dog must've come to a similar conclusion because instead of chasing, it went straight for the kill.

Time slowed.

I only thought; Kami no no no I can't be late and running makes me sweaty and it's too late to run and I'll be bitten and sent to the hospital and it'll be expensive or it'll kill me right here and now-

Maybe it wasn't very _only_ , despite all.

I threw my fizzy drink at it and hit it square in the face. To my credit, I had managed the aim perfectly without a Dying Will bullet. The problem was that it shook its fur once, twice, thrice, the drink straining its fur, growled from deep in its chest, and only kept charging.

And then-

The drink which had splattered over its nuzzle started sizzling, as if it was an acid reacting with the fur and skin. The skin melted like wax for a flame, a charred smell of burned flesh putrid in my nostrils as something heavy weighed in my stomach. Blood pooled from its writhing body as it curled up on the concrete, limbs trembling as its skin was melted right off its body, an agonized whine dying along with its master.

I turned on my heel, closed my eyes and banned the image of the gruesome carcass from my mind, trying to burn the blood and gore away from my memory. I didn't vomit, a blanket of numbing shock wrapping around me and I prayed -maybe I didn't pray, but I wished- that it was all a dream. I may have hated and feared that chihuahua, but somehow I had killed it with an acidic fizzy drink in my way to school.

It took me another moment to register what could've happened had I actually drunk it. Eaten away from the inside out. It was a very nasty thought.

I felt faint, my knees wobbled and tears sprung to my eyes like frogs into a pond. Even for this, I was willing to bet I'd somehow be able to trace the problem back to Reborn. How- _why_?

I sniffed, not quite certain if I was crying out of pity for the not-quite-poor dog which I had brutally murdered in broad daylight or if I was crying of trauma.

It was probably the latter.

Obviously that was when Miura Haru, the brown-ponytailed, doe-eyed spitfire of a girl appeared. Some small part of my brain -which almost constantly seemed to be on a vacation in the Bahamas and never quite care what was going on at hand- tried to decide if it was good or bad that Reborn wasn't with me this time when she appeared. For a moment she looked ready to fire another salvo of accusing, angry words at the mere sight of me, shoulders stiff and back straight, but then froze.

I quickly wiped my tears, but it was too late.

"Hahi, are you okay?" She asked, speeding up to me, her face set into genuine worry. Bahamas-brain-voice tried to decide if it was good or bad that she had seen me crying. At least I wouldn't be yelled at for apparently abusing Reborn with rough handling and insane mafia ideas.

 _No, I'm not._ "Yeah, ahahaha, I, you see, er-" I started shuffling and almost panicking when realizing I had successfully hidden the corpse behind me if I stood where I stood when talking to her.

Operation _Do Not Let Miura Haru See The Cadaver_ was now in execution.

"Hai?"

"I mean, uh, I kind of- tripped, ah, and it's kinda embarrassing but I, uh, yeah I cry easily-" I started shakily, sniffing against just to make sure I didn't have any snot dripping from my nose -which would've been a big _ew_ \- and rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. There, I was fine, I was perfectly fine and nothing had happened and I'd deal with it. I was fine, nothing had happened, I was fine, nothing had happened, I was fine, nothing had happened, I was fine, nothing had happened-

For a moment my self-inflicted brainwash almost seemed to work. And then my bottom lip trembled, the tears leaking.

"You're not fine at all," Haru started, took a few steps closer and then-

Please tell me it wasn't happening, because then I realized she now had perfect view of the gory mess once known as the Chihuahua Terror. She froze. I tried to calm myself.

"I'm not fine, you're right, y'see there's Reborn and what you heard about the mafia was real but I don't want to be in it-" I started rambling, verbal diarrhea at its finest, heart beating bruises against my ribs and brain whirling with words and excuses and emotions until I felt like a dead girl, caught in the webbing whirlwind of recent events and feelings, drowned and baked at the same time. Haru took a step back, her face a white sheet and eyes wide in a glassy stare of mute horror. "You have to believe me, I don't have anything to do with this, okay maybe I have but it's not my fault because someone tried to kill me with acids and then the dog attacked and I threw it at the dog in selfdefense because I hadn't known it was acids, oh and it's not the first time someone's tries to kill me-"

Haru stumbled for a moment, and I watched with staggering fear as she prepared to flee. For a moment I was choked by images of how disappointed mama would be, of how life had finally been looking up, of how Hibari would kill me for killing an animal, of how the second I had something to lose it'd be taken away because of a dog incident.

I did something arguably stupid, spurred by my inability to agree to being worse than I had been before the Mochida-incident, which now marked the day a ray of sunshine had shed light into my life.

I pounced and tackled Miura Haru to the ground like a pro.

Remember how I, just a day or two ago, gave you some advice? One comment being that I had a penchant for accidentally getting into yakuza feuds?

The second Haru hit the ground with me sprawled on top of her, shots rung through the air and a car swiveled down the street from around a corner, followed by an other, the bullets lodging deep into the wall. Had we still been standing both Haru and I would've been dead, casualties of a crossfire.

The cars passed, silence ensued, barring the distant screeching of tires and they rounded the next corner. I shook. Haru seemed half-unconscious. The wall next to us had been riddled with neat holes as though it were a Swiss-cheese, something straight out of a war movie. Property damage hadn't been an issue in Namimori for years.

Hibari would be pissed.

Finally, I rolled away from Haru, sprawling out on the concrete next to her. The dog had been crushed beneath the tires not even a few steps away. Any evidence of acids had been turned into a disfigured splotch of flattened bones and ruptured organs blending with bloody flesh. I turned away from it.

That could've been me. Corroded from the inside out and overrun by a car, perhaps even become the home to stray bullets.

I curled into a ball next to Haru.

So much for an ordinary day.

It took me a moment she only had eyes for me. It felt a little awkward, so I sat up and corrected my uniform, trying to act like I wasn't about to pass out. "Uh," I started intelligently, glancing down at her slightly shaking form. Her brown hair was a mess, skirt riding up indecently high and scarpes marring both her knees and hands. "That was a pretty bad start of the day, eh?"

There was a sudden surge of arms, and the next thing I knew was that I had been swept into an awkwardly tangled hug, sitting in the middle of a street next to a murdered dog with a crying girl in my arms. Or me in hers. Her tears wet the skin of my neck; "You saved me."

"Oh, uh, I guess I did," I agreed, finding it easier to focus on her wellbeing than my own for the moment. At least I didn't feel faint at the sight of blood, that could've ended badly. "Are you alright? Do you want to go home and get those scrapes cleaned? Your left knee is bleeding pretty bad, and there could be grit inside the wound..."

She shook her head, mumbling; "You go to Namimori, right? After school, could we, like, maybe, meet up afterwards- I don't- I don't want to walk back alone, and I- hahi, I don't even know your name-"

"Sawada Setsuna," I supplied hastily, having been neglected in favor of knowing Reborn's name the last few days, and added on autopilot, "it's nice meeting you."

.

Gokudera waited outside the school gates, looking no less scary than the day he had tried to kill me though significantly less out for my head. That was always a bonus.

By a stroke of luck I had arrived on time despite of all, including taking a detour to walk with semi-friend Miura Haru to be more calm before entering school. I didn't feel quite as much as a wreck as before, although I wasn't certain for how much that accounted. I had been in a rather bad shape.

I was kind of a teensy, tiny, minuscule little _absolutely furious_ at Reborn. He could've told me people would want me dead. First Gokudera, now rosy-haired models with poison, what was next?

"Oh, ah, good morning," I greeted with an awkward wave, feeling almost sheepish when Gokudera lit up like a lantern at the sight of me. It took me a moment to realize Yamamoto was there, too, stepping forth from where he had been slouching like a partially hidden shadow behind the bomber. Look at that, I had acquired a quasi-friend from the prestigious Midori Middle, become friends with the popular Sasagawa Kyouko and Kurokawa Hana, and on top of that had Year One's two hottest guys waiting for me at the school gates.

To finish the picture, I might as well have flicked my suddenly miraculously straightened hair and put on some sunglasses, maybe even arrive in a Ferrari. I was going to become a mafia boss, so wasn't that part of the deal?

I quickly shelved those thoughts. I was not going to become a boss, least of all to the crime syndicate of Italy, Europe and perhaps the entirety of the world, nor would I be driven to school in a red Ferrari, wear sunglasses or have straightened hair.

My hair was never straight, _ever_.

"Good morning, Juudaime," chimed the pretty silverette, standing up straight and squashing his cigarette beneath his shoe before walking into school.

"You're right, Tsuna-chan, it _is_ a nice morning," was Yamamoto's contribution, smiling blithely up at the blue vast making up the clear sky. It really was a nice day, I supposed, although that hadn't been the focus of my day up until now. I had decided only a few minutes ago to try to maintain a positive outlook on life, or at least a fair one, if only not to go completely mad;

 _Positives_ :

\+ I would no longer be terrorized on my way to school

\+ I had more friends than I had ever had in my entire life combined

\+ Evidence of my involvement in a murder would not be investigated since it'd be assumed the dog died by the car's tiers

\+ I had prepared myself for a potential Dying Will bullet by wearing a cute sports bra with matching panties

\+ Killing me had up until now not worked

\+ I knew the face of one potential murderer

\+ I was on time and wouldn't suffer Hibari's wrath

 _Negatives_ :

\- I was mildly traumatized

\- The blisters on my palms from extinguishing Gokudera's dynamite still hurt

\- I still had Reborn, though currently MIA, to mess with my life

All in all it painted an arguably nice picture. It certainly could've been worse, I reasoned. With that in mind as a booster for my morale, shoulders no longer hunched and chin a tad higher than a year ago, I headed straight into the next battlefield.

Er-

I meant Namimori Middle.

.

It took days before Gokudera stopped contemplating the murder of Yamamoto, who was the finishing member of our little trio and staunchly upheld his belief that we were playing mafia with bullheaded naivety. Gokudera seemed to be driven up the walls by the stubborn innocence alone. I would've found the cluelessness cute weren't it for the fact that Yamamoto could very well die.

"No no no no," Gokudera seethed, pencil almost snapping when he leaned over the table to glare into Yamamoto's notebook. In turn, I leaned back to let him, blessing the fact that the writing desk in the middle of my room was rounded and it meant you didn't have to lean awfully far because of a seating arrangement. "You're doing it all wrong, baseball-baka!"

Well, that was encouraging. I had done the same thing Yamamoto had done, which was apparently one big mistake. I fiddled with my own pen, twirled it, ended up dropping it because I was too clumsy to actually keep twirling it, and then quickly erased some of the answers Gokudera seemed the most upset about in Yamamoto's notebook. I knew I shouldn't have asked for the raven sportsman's help, but I was still rather intimidated by Gokudera and his explanations had proven to be- well- ridiculously difficult and theoretical.

"Oh?" Yamamoto answered with a chuckle, undeterred by both mistakes and hostility. "And here I thought I had finally understood!"

"Well obviously you didn't," he sniffed angrily as reply, seemingly biting back various rude nicknames as he, with forced patience, started explaining the physics question. "It's a measurement of the speed atoms or molecules move, ergo if it's hot or cold, the absolute freezing point being zero Kelvin, which is when nothing moves-"

"Ohh, haha, you're pretty smart," Yamamoto complement absently, rubbing the back of his neck with twinkling hazel eyes.

"Tch, it's in the fucking textbook, you don't need to be a genius to just go find it," replied Gokudera, although he did seem a little calmer at the tickling of his ego. _Males_. I smothered a smile.

"We've been working for hours," I cut in gently, stretching and inconspicuously closed my notebook before Gokudera could see whatever bullshit I had written. "What about we head outside and go find something to eat? I saw this cute little stand a few streets down on my way to the shop yesterday."

"Sounds good to me," agreed Yamamoto, standing up with a flashing of teeth when he smiled. I prided myself on not blushing, he really _was_ handsome when he did that.

"Anything the Juudaime says," Gokudera agreed eagerly, jumping to his feet after putting the worst mess on the table in order. I fancied thinking he looked just little relieved, too, and hadn't just agreed to make me happy.

Downstairs it was a bit of a search to find our shoes, since every single pair was in a messy heap for some unexplainable reason. I knew I had placed mine neatly along the wall. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled, my guts churned, and instinctively I thought of the young kid I had seen snooping around the house the last two days. He was young, perhaps five or six, with an afro of bushy black hair and eyes like artificial grass, clad in a cow-patterned onesie.

So far I'd always managed to lose him when trying to catch him for a conversation (more like an interrogation going along the lines of _why are you always lurking near my house_ and _are you spying on me_ or _what do you want_ ). I decided that'd have to change, because _hello_ , he seemed to have snuck inside my house? It was a miracle I hadn't called the police yet. No, rather, it was a miracle Nana had yet to notice anything. And by anything, I mean _anything_. That included many ripped school uniforms, Reborn's odd tendencies, murder attempts and the likes. Sometimes I really wanted to cry. Or laugh.

Gokudera and Yamamoto headed outside while I quickly made my way into the living room, where mama was snugly curled up in the couch with a book, her smile soft like summer rain and spring petals. Before I could say anything, however, she gave me a cheesy thumbs-up and giggling wink; "Go have fun, Tsuna-chan, but not too much."

My jaw almost hit the floor, my hand shooting up to steady myself against the wooden doorframe. "Uhhhh..."

Delicately she placed a finger between the pages of her book as makeshift bookmark, smiling up at me with bright eyes. "I remember when I was your age, my kaa-chan always chided and restricted me when it came to boys, so I'm aiming to be what I wished she had been! So you go enjoy yourself."

"Right, okay, uh, that's great, uh, yup, I'm gonna go now, I'll be back before dinner, definitely before dinner, it's just for a snack, and- they're only my _friends_ , mama," I quickly added at the end, then bolted back to the front door, struggled into my sandals and hurried outside to catch up where they waited at the street. Thankfully they both seemed to have behaved.

"It's that way," I was hasty to say, trying to erase my most recent conversation from my mind, leading them up the street. By now I had grown used to seeing both at either side of me when going somewhere, as we had gone together as a clique to school almost every day, but it never failed to make me smile with some sort of soft pride and appreciative giddiness, something both selfless and selfish in nature. "It's this really cute little stall selling various Chinese buns and the likes."

"Sounds nice," said Yamamoto, bright.

"Does Juudaime like buns?" Gokudera asked, lighting a cigarette.

"Depends on the bun, I guess," I replied vaguely, trying to remember whether it was left at this turn or not. I decided against it, it was probably straight ahead and the to the left. Maybe. We'd find it eventually.

"Dame-Tsuna likes all food," came a merrily mocking voice from above, and I almost stumbled with surprise at Reborn's sudden appearance atop a mail box next to us.

"Hiiieeee!"

Both Gokudera and Yamamoto jumped, though likely more at the sound of my squeaky screech than out of genuine surprise. Reborn jumped down, landing on his customary place on my shoulder. It was perfectly executed, as expected; had I tried that -me in Reborn-size and him all grown up- I'd probably have tripped and broken my nose after an ugly fall when slipping off his shoulder. Or, more likely, I'd have missed the shoulder completely and broken my legs because of a bad fall in a display of clumsiness. The world kind of worked like that for me.

Or, at least it used to be like that, ever since Reborn appeared, exactly nine days ago, things had been going differently. My world had tipped on its axis so slowly, so gently (uhh, I'll come back to that later) that I hadn't realized everything was different until it was too late. Now, for the gentleness, maybe that was a lie. It hadn't been gentle, it involved unconventional stripping-into-underwear-bullets, assassination attempts and unconventional fights.

But for the moment, it felt alright. I had Yamamoto and Gokudera next to me, Haru as well as Kyouko and Hana, and even Reborn wasn't always too bad. There was even a magnificent sunset of amber and pink to top my evening.

My moment of contentment ended with a sudden, piercing scream; "DIIIIIEEEE!"

I threw myself to the ground with another _hiiiieeee_. Yamamoto blinked with confusion while Gokudera whipped out some dynamite, and I glanced up. It turned out that for the first time in a while, it seemed, I wasn't the one who was going to be disposed of. No liquidation for me tonight, at least.

What happened next was a bit of a blur, since I was being helped up and half my brain had died upon the realization I was being coddled into an upright position by two very hot guys.

Yamamoto asked, all concern and warmth; "Did you trip?"

Gokudera asked, all thinly veiled rage; "Did somebody hurt you?"

The little cow-patterned kid with the afro who I had tried to get ahold of the past few days flew over my head with an impressive leap, with a -holy crappedy craps of craps, how was this possible, whoa whoa whoa whoa- grenade clutched in his childish hand, heading straight for a very calm, very unconcerned Reborn only a few steps away.

Why, _why_ did Reborn have to screw up a simple outing for snacks?

I was surprised to find that I was unsurprised when I felt no real ire at him for it, as if I had gotten used to it by now. Oh shit, I had come to _like_ the scary, harsh little baby-toddler.

I was doomed.

Just before the kid was about to land on the ground and throw the grenade at the suit-donning hitman, said little baby kicked the slightly older opponent in the stomach with a kick I thought only happened in manga, sending the bomb flying a safe distance away to detonate in a random garden that had been immaculately trimmed and taken care of (whoops, a life's work destroyed in one fell swoop) and the bushy-haired cow-kid in question crashing into the wooden fence in front of me. I didn't dare approach despite wincing with sympathy; Reborn's kicks were hell.

I expected a swift counter attack, consequently prepared to bolt down the street, but instead tears pooled in startling chartreuse-green eyes. My heart broke just a little bit. It blamed it on maternal instincts. I just barely refrained from hiding behind Gokudera and Yamamoto, retaining very little dignity with how I clung to both with wide eyes, not daring to leave in case anybody got seriously injured. I wasn't even certain which one of them by now, cow-kid or Reborn.

"Must- stay- calm-" the child shook, and then broke out in slobbery tears, shakily standing back up and, please tell me this was a joke, pulled out a bright pink bazooka. "I, Lambo Bovino, will kill you, Reborn!"

I scrambled to get away from the blast radius, pulling Gokudera and Yamamoto along, but tripped over my own feet at the rush and probably ended up flashing Gokudera quite a bit when falling to the ground. His cigarette dropped to the ground, cheeks suffused with cute pink, so he gave himself away despite averting his eyes after lingering a second too long.

Only, Lambo jumped right into the bazooka instead of trying to kill Reborn with it. Huh, that was-

Good?

Worrying?

Made no sense at all and made me squeak with wary surprise?

And then there was a poof of smoke, like pink cotton candy turned into mist, a low boom, and then-

Well. Well.

I glanced around me. Gokudera and Yamamoto looked equally befuddled, the former in a confrontational manner and the latter with genuine confusion and curiosity. Reborn looked just as calm and chic as before. I was pretty sure my jaw had dropped to the opposite side of the world by now. First Dying Will Bullets and Dying Will Flames, Reborn's matured shadow, and now this? And here I had actually believed things could't get more flipped in my life.

I wondered if it was possible to hold a funeral for normality.

Lambo was gone. Instead there was a handsome you boy, perhaps fifteen, with slightly tousled inky tresses framing a face with the impossibly bright green eyes, one of them closed, clad in a fancy jacket opened at the top and beige pants paired with fine leather sandals. And, believe it or not, he winked at me.

It was kind of flattering, to be honest.

My evening only got worse, because racing down the street with a murderous expression was my killer-in-making, still looking like a model and still with glossy hair a truce between dark pink and lavender. Next to me, Gokudera collapsed. I almost started crying. This was it, one of my friends was already down, who knew what had done him in? At least he was still breathing.

Only, model-murderer didn't race towards me, didn't even glance at me, only picked up a single sickly-purple piece of pizza steaming with poisonous vapors from her basket, and threw it straight towards the new guy with an enraged cry of; " _Romeo, you dare show your face near me again_?"

I sunk down on my knees next to the out-cold Gokudera, his head in my lap and Yamamoto protective next to me, a hand on my shoulder and breath tickling my ear.

"Wha-" new-guy-replacing-Lambo started, dodged the ambiguous pice of food, and then high tailed out of there at the sight of the I-will-demolish-you-class angry woman cycling after him with another pizza ready. Where the first salvo had hit the fence it had started sizzling against the wood, discoloring the white paint.

"Who were they?" I questioned Reborn once both were gone, voice shaky like a newborn lamb's first steps. I was _definitely_ improvising a funeral for my normality once I got the chance.

He smiled his cute smile that spelled doom. "Lambo of the Bovino family, supposedly a hitman, and Bianchi, Gokudera's older sister, also known as the Poison Scorpion, is an assassin."

By then I only longed for a good night's sleep and a pillow to scream into. Instead of fulfilling my wish to drag myself home and never come out of my room, I only shook my head, bouncy brown tresses flying, feeling too stuffed with surprises to be genuinely scared or worried, absently brushing stray silver strands away from Gokudera's slightly green tinted face; "And the other guy who, er, Bianchi just chased away?"

"That was Lambo, too, Dame-Tsuna. The bazooka allows him to change place with himself ten years into the future."

Well, alright then, nice to know time travel was apparently possible, too. Thank you for letting me now in such a nice and safe way. Truly grateful.

_Bed. Sleep. Now._

Something told me I'd be seeing a lot more of them. My shoulders drooped and I told Yamamoto, who of course thought it was all part of the great mafia game; "Yamamoto-kun, I think we'll have to eat Chinese buns some other day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Towards the end Tsuna was really, really _really_ shocked numb: poor little girl, she never gets a break. But I guess that's my fault since I'm the author. I don't really feel regret in that department. Towards the end she might as well have done a Xanxus -or Squalo, more like it- and flipped her hair, turned on her heel and said; "Fuck this shit." Of course she didn't, because it's Tsuna, but had she been anybody else it'd be more along those lines.  
>  Next up, I-Pin and Dino arrive while Bianchi and Lambo make themselves comfortable at the Sawada household, after which we might get a glimpse of Fuuta which means Kokuyo Land is visible beyond the horizon of a chapter or two! 
> 
> And that's just a little worrying because Mukuro. 
> 
> I'm about to start my last exam period, so it'll probably take about two weeks before I update again, so please bear with me?


End file.
